Chapter 1 — The Chipped Tooth Incident
Evander
The rhythmic hum of the drill resonated through the pristine walls of Evander Quinn’s dental clinic, a sound that soothed him like the ticking of his pocket watch. Everything was in its rightful place: instruments gleaming under fluorescent lights, trays meticulously aligned, and not a speck of dust to disrupt the sterile perfection. It was a sanctuary of order, a fortress against the chaos of the outside world. Evander adjusted his rectangular glasses, savoring the controlled serenity as his fingers instinctively brushed the silver pocket watch in his coat pocket, its engraved phrase, *Time heals all wounds,* grounding him.
“Dr. Quinn? Your next patient is here, annnnd you’re going to love this one.”
Tess’s voice, light and teasing, crackled through the intercom. Evander’s brow furrowed at the melodramatic inflection. Her penchant for injecting unpredictability into his meticulously ordered world was a daily trial, albeit one he tolerated with long-suffering grace.
He glanced at the chart on the counter. “Send them in,” he replied curtly, his fingers tapping once on his watch as he exhaled. The name caught his eye: *Cressida Vaughn.* Beside it, Tess had added one of her signature sun doodles, its smiley face grinning back at him like a co-conspirator.
The door opened, and for a moment, the air in the room shifted.
She strode in as if she’d painted herself out of a dream, a riot of color and vitality against the backdrop of muted grays and whites. Petite and curvy, with a cascade of unruly red curls half-contained by a loosely tied scarf splattered in vibrant paint, she looked like a living canvas. Freckles dusted her nose and cheekbones, and her hazel eyes brimmed with a spark of mischief even as she pressed a piece of gauze to her mouth.
“Dr. Quinn, right?” Her voice was lilting, warm, with a playful edge that made it seem like she was sharing a private joke. “I’m Cressida Vaughn, your latest dental disaster.”
Evander cleared his throat, momentarily thrown, and gestured toward the chair with his usual practiced calm. “Please, have a seat. I understand you’ve chipped a tooth?”
“Yep. Tried to open a jar of paint with my teeth. Spoiler alert: the jar won.” She grinned, the gauze slipping slightly, and laughed—a bright, infectious sound that seemed to defy the antiseptic sterility of the room.
From the corner of his eye, Evander caught Tess hovering in the doorway, her smirk barely concealed. “Just holler if you need me,” she said, slipping out with a wink that made Evander’s frown deepen.
As Cressida eased into the chair, her scarf slid askew, releasing a few more fiery curls. Evander pulled on his gloves, focusing on the procedure to steady himself. “May I take a look?”
“Be my guest,” she said, tilting her head back and opening her mouth. Even in this vulnerable position, she exuded a confidence that left him both intrigued and unsettled. A faint scent of turpentine clung to her, mingling with the antiseptic air, a sensory clash that made his pulse flicker.
The chip was on her lateral incisor, a small imperfection but noticeable all the same. As he examined it, she studied him unabashedly, her hazel eyes sharp with curiosity.
“So... do you always work in such a monochromatic space?” she asked, her words slightly muffled around the mirror he held near her teeth.
“Pardon?” His head tilted slightly, his tone formal, though her question made him falter for a moment.
She gestured vaguely with one hand. “Your walls, the tools, your coat—everything here is so... precise. I feel like I’ve wandered into a dental operating theater. Your walls look like they’re holding their breath, waiting for a splash of color to save them.”
Evander straightened, his posture instinctively defensive. “A clean and orderly environment is essential for patient care, Miss Vaughn.”
“Oh, absolutely,” she said with a breezy shrug. “But doesn’t it get a little... dull? I mean, where’s the personality? The soul? Perfection’s fine and all, but sometimes it’s a bit... sterile.”
Sliding his chair back a fraction, Evander removed his gloves with deliberate precision. “My priority is exceptional dental care, not decorative embellishments.”
Her laugh burst out, bright and unrestrained, like sunlight slicing through fog. “Fair enough. But you’re missing out. Art adds soul to a space, you know? Ever thought about hanging a painting or two? Something bold. Something... alive.”
Her words lingered, tugging at something he couldn’t quite name, even as he dismissed them. “My patients are more concerned with their dental health than the décor.”
The procedure itself was swift—a minor repair requiring only a touch of bonding material—but Cressida filled the room with her chatter, undeterred by his restrained responses. She spoke of her art studio, her love for imperfection, and her latest painting, inspired by a spilled cup of coffee. Her words painted a vivid, chaotic world so far removed from his that he found himself both fascinated and exasperated.
As he finished, Evander stepped back, discarding his gloves and adjusting his pocket watch—a reflexive gesture he barely noticed. Her comments about perfection and chaos echoed faintly, though he tried to push them aside. “That should do it. Please avoid biting into hard objects for the next twenty-four hours.”
“No more jars, I promise,” she said, running her tongue over the repaired tooth. She grinned, her appreciation genuine. “Wow, you’re good at this. Seriously. Do you sculpt on the side or something? That was impressively precise.”
The question struck a nerve he hadn’t expected. “I take pride in my work,” he said, his tone clipped as he turned to organize his tools.
Cressida stood, glancing around the room once more, her expression thoughtful. “You know, Dr. Quinn, perfection doesn’t always mean sterile. Sometimes, a little mess can be beautiful.” Her hazel eyes met his, warm and unguarded, the faintest hint of vulnerability beneath her confidence. “Just something to think about.”
And then she was gone, leaving behind the faint scent of paint and the memory of her presence, like a splash of color bleeding into a blank canvas.
Tess reappeared moments later, her sly smile in full force. “Well? What’d you think of her?”
Evander stiffened, turning back to his workstation. “She’s... spirited.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Tess said with a laugh, holding up a small card. “She left this for you.”
He hesitated before taking it. It wasn’t the formal thank-you note he’d expected. Instead, it was a sketch, vibrant and chaotic, of a grinning tooth surrounded by swirling patterns. At the bottom, in bold, playful handwriting, were the words: “Thanks for fixing my smile!—C.V.”
Evander stared at the card longer than he intended, his thumb brushing over the textured paper. The colors seemed to pulse with energy, a jarring contrast to the muted tones of the clinic.
“You know,” Tess added casually, leaning against the doorframe, “a little art in this place wouldn’t hurt.”
Sliding the card into his coat pocket beside his watch, Evander tried to focus on his meticulously arranged tools. “Perhaps,” he said quietly.
Yet as he resumed his routine, the image of Cressida Vaughn—her vibrant energy, her unapologetic critique, her chaotic charm—remained stubbornly lodged in his thoughts, disrupting the carefully ordered calm he had so carefully cultivated. For the first time in years, he wasn’t entirely sure he minded.
